


advantage court

by roommate



Series: shadow doubles [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Vouyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roommate/pseuds/roommate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yixing moves to Korea and finds 'home' again in tennis. Lu Han moves closer to Yixing and opens the door. (<b>Warning/s:</b> underage sex, semi-public sex, vouyerism | Written for the second round of <a href="http://justgetlayd.livejournal.com/23240.html">justgetlayd</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	advantage court

This isn't supposed to feel foreign to him – the squeaking and screeching of rubber shoes, the sound of balls bouncing off the court – but it does. Maybe it's because he's spent half his life playing on street courts that aren't as smooth as the ones here in Seoul, or maybe because he _is_ miles away from home. He doesn't blame his father for getting reassigned to Korea – he never blames family; he blames circumstance. So he clings onto tennis as his last string of hope, a semblance of home.

He grips his racket tight in his hand, bows to the coach and the regulars when he enters the practice area. Now, in grounds where tennis is celebrated, he doesn't feel awkward in his attire anymore. "Hello. I'm Zhang Yixing and I'd like to be part of your team," he says, earnest. There's a dull ache in his back for a while, then, "It's nice to meet you."

Collective hums, then a voice from behind. "Zhang Yixing?" the guy asks. There's a bout of silence for a while, then, "Your surname is Zhang?"

Yixing looks over his shoulder and nods. He's met with big brown eyes, a small smile. He isn't much taller than Yixing. but Yixing finds himself looking up. "Yes," he reiterates when the man doesn't move, just stands in his spot with an amused smile. "Nice to meet you…?"

"Lu Han," the man says, walking over. He isn't wearing the same uniform as the others, but he's wearing the same brand of confidence like he's made for this – the regulars spot, the court, this stage. Lu Han's hand is rough, callous where the palm meets the base of the fingers. His skin is warm. "Nice to meet you, Zhang Yixing."

"You're carrying your racket wrong," Yixing mumbles, pointing at the racket head tucked under Lu Han's armpit with his free hand.

Lu Han snorts, shakes his head, but doesn't break from the handshake just yet. "Style," he says, but slides his racket down, anyway, turning it over so he can hold it by the grip. "I get that all the time."

"Why do you still do it, then?"

Lu Han shrugs then grips the head of his racket, holding it with two hands now. He stretches his arms over his head. "Old habits die hard."

Yixing chuckles, shakes his head. He grips his own racket in his hand tight, feeling the throb of his pulse against the tape. 

Match ups don't get released until thirty minutes after, once the coach has already briefed them on what they'll be doing. "This is your standard round robin type of elimination. The sixteen with the best scores will advance to the quarterfinals. Make it to the semis and you're more or less assured of a spot in the regulars. Make it to the final two, however, and you get a better chance to play in tournaments." Coach Jung scans the crowd, looks everyone in the eye. "I have high expectations. We're looking for the best of the best. Whimoon will not tolerate mediocrity."

Lu Han looks to his side and nudges Yixing in the arm. "That's you and me playing with the other regulars," he whispers, eyes gleaming. "See you at the top?"

Yixing furrows his eyebrows for a while, more out of surprise than anything else, but nods, anyway. The grin on Lu Han's lips is contagious. "See you when I win."

 

 

Yixing runs into a couple of threats on his way to the quarterfinals. There's Choi Minho whose power is only rivaled by his agility, and there's also Kim Kibum whose skill at switching from a drive to a drop shot is out of this world. He manages to get past Kibum after a tight hour-long match, capitalizing on his serves and forehand winners, earning him a seventh victory, but loses to Minho after receiving two heavy serves and aiming them at the net.

"That was something," Minho says when they meet at the net, offering a high-five. "Your serve is amazing! The angle, the precision–"

"Lots of training back in middle school," Yixing says. _And elementary. And on the streets, hitting balls with my dad._ His muscles can still remember the ache of each service he'd done back when he was much younger, every toss of the ball and swing of the racket. His father wasn't a ruthless trainer, but he wouldn't accept anything less than Yixing's 100% percent. And Yixing was a hardworker. It's bad enough a combination that, if you add the spirit of the sport, you'll only end up with pulled muscles and a mind game that will last until the next century. Yixing's still without any injuries, though, save for when he twisted his ankle two years ago. His father was scared shitless that he'd promised he'd never drive Yixing too hard ever again.

So it's all Yixing now – the thirst for perfection that he's come to grow accustomed to, his muscles telling them to push some more, the quest for something, someone better. He clamps a hand on Minho's shoulder and squeezes briefly before saying, "Your footwork's amazing. I don't think I've ever seen anyone like you."

Minho's cheeks take on a light blush. For a man so tall, he sure does shrink so fast when peppered with praise. "Ah, that was just–" Minho looks away, grinning. "Sorry, it's just that I haven't played in a while so… yeah, I'm just… really flattered. Thanks."

"Didn't feel like it," Yixing says this time, on purpose, and winks. Minho shakes his head, thanks him a second time, then excuses himself to grab a drink.

"Looks like we're leading," comes Lu Han's voice form behind. "Saw your game back there. You're not so bad."

Yixing chuckles, shakes his head. He humors Lu Han, saying, "Well, you're okay. Could be better, though." Lu Han's eyes widen, and soon Lu Han is slapping him on the arm, each hit harder than the previous.

Quarterfinals sees Yixing and Lu Han on opposite sides of the draw. Minho is on Lu Han's side of the draw, along with two Yixing is slated to face Kibum again, and a hotshot by the name of Huang Zitao. He's heard things about him, seen the way he plays – no openings, all snappy shots to the corners. Zitao's eyes are focused and there's no hint of a smile on his lips. "Watch out for that one," Lu Han whispers in his ear when they pass each other. "Feisty kid on court. Giggly outside. He's supposed to be a year younger than us."

"Doesn't look like it," Yixing says in confidence. Lu Han lets out an easy laugh that sounds a lot like a snort. "You scared, Lu?"

Lu Han squints, a peculiar smile surfacing on his lips. "We've just met, Zhang Yixing." Lu Han catches his bottom lip between his teeth, then says, "So I'll tell you now: nothing scares me."

"Not even losing?"

Lu Han's bottom lip comes off with a light tremble. "Nothing," Lu Han answers, then, "Don't lose until we meet."

Lu Han gives his ass a light tap before heading off in the opposite direction. Lu versus Choi in court number one, Zhang versus Huang in court number three. Two rounds of matches keeping them apart. A match pulling them back together.

Yixing approaches the net and extends his hand in Zitao's direction. He grips his racket tight.

 

 

Watching Zitao play is different from actually playing him. Opposite Zitao now, at the receiving end of the serve, he _can_ see the openings in Zitao's game – Zitao swings his racket too far back and misses a couple of opportunities to fire a forehand with the sweet spot of his racket. He extends his arm too much when he serves, and if he hasn't had much preparation prior to the match then he'll risk pulling his muscles. He twists his ankle when doing a backhand instead of stepping his right foot over the left side for a cleaner hit. Tiny cracks big enough for Yixing to capitalize on and leave a dent in. So Yixing aims a deep backhand to Zitao's left, angle low enough that Zitao will miss it if he doesn't bend his knees or do a proper backhand stance.

He sees Zitao shake his head, then prepares to receive. Zitao will get this one; he's probably already learned his lesson.

But too late – the ball hits the top of the net, then falls back inside Zitao's side of the court. Zitao smacks his palm on his forehead, but resurfaces when he makes his way to the net with a small smile.

"Sorry I couldn't give you a better match," Zitao says. There's a wistful smile on his lips, but his eyes are sharp, focused, determined. "You were just too good."

Yixing laughs a little, offers a small smile in return. "You were amazing! You just… have to work on the stances–"

"Ah, yeah, that." Zitao snorts. "My trainer keeps telling me that I should… fix the backhand thing going on."

"Bend," Yixing says, taping the back of Zitao's knees with the head of his racket. "It'll make a huge difference."

"You're nicer than my trainer."

Yixing chuckles. "Only after a match," he says.

Zitao bows at him then disappears into the crowd, waving at two students in basketball jerseys. He looks over his shoulder, though, gives Yixing a wave, then turns back to his friends.

"You've met family?"

Yixing closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Do you have a thing with creeping up on people?"

"It's how I get friends," Lu Han says now, pulling Yixing by the wrist to drag him to the bleachers. He maintains a good distance from Yixing, though, wiping his sweat with a hand towel. Yixing reaches for two bottles of water and presses one against Lu Han's cheek. Lu Han seethes. "No, that's not a good way to befriend people. That's how you make enemies."

"You should stop sitting with me, then," Yixing argues.

"You're the closest I can get to home. So I'll stick close as long as I want to." Lu Han shifts in his seat, wiping his legs now. Just beyond Lu Han's arched back, the sun is setting. Sunlight paints him a warm, orange glow, softens the hard angle of his nose, his jaw, his collarbones. Lu Han's legs seem to stretch on forever and Yixing doesn't mind, just watches as Lu Han wraps the towel around his thigh and rubs the sweat off.

Lu Han looks up at him after a while, fingers splayed near his ankle. He has nice fingers, too, not worn out by long hours of training. With sweat glistening on his cheek, the curve of his face, Lu Han looks– "You're not thinking of letting me win now, are you?"

Yixing jerks back, leaning back on his arms. He looks Lu Han in the eye, then answers, "Not in a million years."

"Great," Lu Han replies, bunching the towel in his hands then getting back on his feet. "Because I don't plan to make this easy for you."

Yixing keeps his eyes trained on Lu Han who works his way down the bleachers, cracking his neck as he walks. He locks his arms behind his back, closing his eyes when he feels the stretch, then raises his arms over his head. When he opens his eyes, Lu Han's at the foot of the bleachers, hands on his waist and racket held by the grip as he says, "Done prepping, princess?"

Yixing shakes his head and climbs down, then taps Lu Han in the ass with his racket. "Get ready to be blown away."

 

 

Lu Han proves to be a worthy opponent. More than worthy, even, when he manages to come back from being two games down, 4-4 now after an hour of play. They're playing in white lights now, harsh and blinding, but Yixing keeps his focus. _Eyes on the prize. Just two more games,_ he chants in his head like a mantra, then tosses the ball in the air. He swings his left arm forward, tilts his racket just so, and gets a kick serve inside Lu Han's service box.

"Are we doing fancy serves now?" Lu Han asks, teasing. Yixing waves him off, drops another ball to the floor and dribbles it for a while. Another nice, clean service, this time down the T, and Lu Han groans. Two more, and he sets himself up to win the set if he manages to get the break from Lu Han.

"I'm not going down so easily."

Yixing smiles, clenches his left hand before gripping his racket with it again. "You're not going down so easily." Lu Han's first service gets caught in the net. Yixing snorts. "Yeah. Right."

Lu Han raises his racket in front of him, pointing at Yixing. "I won't let you down."

Yixing nods, crouches low in anticipation of Lu Han's serve.

The funny thing is that he's only seen Lu Han play thrice today, maybe four times if you count that other match where he missed seeing the first few minutes. His match reading skills aren't top-notch, but Lu Han has a distinct enough style that sticks to his brain four games in. Lu Han's footwork is safe enough, and he isn't too lazy to use the proper receiving stances for the difficult shots. He uses the same ball toss everytime he serves, and that makes it more difficult to know exactly what type of serve he'll be using. His forehand is sharp, like a whip. His only downside – impatience, always hitting the ball as soon as it lifts from the ground.

The reward is in taking risks, Yixing tells himself, but if every shot is executed in the same manner, the trick loses its magic.

This time, Lu Han hits a slice serve, cutting close to the net but landing right inside of Yixing's service box. He moves forward, receiving the shot with a forehand, and aims it near Lu Han's feet. Lu Han is quick to react, stepping back, waiting for the ball to rise until it's at eye level. He can make out Lu Han's grin from where he is and, the next thing he knows, the ball is rolling away from his side of the net, landing on the other side with an easy drop shot.

Something in Lu Han's eyes glimmers. Yixing gulps hard. This match isn't over yet.

5-5, then 6-6, and soon they're at 20-20, with two hours of playing time on the clock. "Think you can go on for a few more sets?" Yixing asks, bouncing the ball in front of him.

"Sets?" Lu Han cackles. "I can play a hundred matches more!"

Yixing clutches the ball in his hand, then nods. He casts one last glance at Lu Han before tossing the ball in the air.

 

 

In the end, five of them get recruited into the tennis club, making this year's try-outs the most successful yet. Minho and Kibum had exchanged high-fives when their names were called, but quickly told each other to not slack off. Zitao clapped in excitement and grinned at Yixing upon hearing his name. Yixing's first thought was to call his parents, tell them that he'd made it without having to have his parents around to cheer him on, but instead he just smiled and grinned and tried not to jump around. They'd offered to bring pompoms to his try-outs and it took a while before he could convince them to do otherwise. He wouldn't want them to see _this_.

Lu Han almost screamed then, but redeemed himself with a bow and by giving Coach Jung a hug. "I won't let you down, coach," Lu Han said then. It was more of a statement than a promise, like he was so sure of himself and of what he could bring to the team. Yixing clapped, smiled, and flashed Lu Han a thumbs-up when Lu Han turned to him with a grin.

"I still can't believe it," Lu Han says now, while they hit the ball back and forth for warm up. It's already been three days since the news was delivered yet Lu Han still talks about the announcement with a glimmer in his eyes. On the other side of the court, the captain, Joonmyun, takes Zitao through the proper backhand stance, tapping his knee with a finger and telling him to _please bend your knees, Zitao._ "Five rookies in the team. I heard Joonmyun-hyung's planning to make all of us play in tournaments. That's amazing!"

"You can still bail out, y'know," Yixing teases. Lu Han hits the ball deeper and to the corner of the court. "Throwing a tantrum on court? Joonmyun-hyung–"

"Ssh, ssh!" Lu Han crosses the net, clasps a hand over Yixing's mouth. "Don't do that! I can't get kicked out!"

Lu Han laughs, loud and shrill, and Yixing finds himself laughing in accord. There's something different, though, in the way Lu Han's shoulders fall forward, in the awkward stretch of Lu Han's lips as he cackles, in Lu Han's forehand when they resume play, hitting the ball when it's a good two feet off the ground. If Lu Han's ever fazed, he doesn't let it show in the score when they do a practice match, winning over Yixing with forehand to the back.

They go out for jeon after practice, along with the other rookies. Minho and Kibum teach them new Korean words and phrases that aren't so new to Lu Han, and Zitao soaks everything in, from the spelling to the pronunciation to the proper use of the words. Lu Han nods through it all, eating one piece of jeon after another, an arm snug around Yixing's shoulder. Yixing doesn't shrug him off, just grabs Lu Han by the wrist and makes Lu Han feed him the last piece.

"I won't tell Joonmyun-hyung," Yixing whispers when Lu Han looks at him with wide eyes. "You have my word."

"Bribery," Lu Han mumbles. He orders tteokbokki for them both and feeds Yixing through a stick, nonetheless.

 

 

Zitao gets a hang of the proper backhand stance after a few rigorous training sessions with Joonmyun. Lu Han teases him, saying, "Aww, look at our baby finally growing up!" and Zitao growls at Lu Han even before Lu Han can say more. Lu Han grabs Yixing by the shoulders, then, using him as a shield, and the lines of tension along Zitao's forehead ease as Yixing offers a grin.

"I don't like you," Zitao tells Lu Han, pointing an accusing finger at him, but sticks around long enough to listen to feedback, anyway. He nods in agreement when Lu Han tells him to not twist his torso too much, tells him to relieve his knees of some pressure by transferring his weight to his thighs when he bends his knees. Zitao is an eager student, always willing to learn, and never fails to deliver. Lu Han is the unassuming teacher who jokes around with students but leaves them with life lessons.

"Got any tips for me, _sonsaengnim?_ " Yixing asks, grinning up at Lu Han who has just finished showing Zitao what he means by shifting weight to other parts of his body. Lu Han sneers at him and ruffles his hair, but leads him to the courts, anyway, so they can practice Yixing's forehand.

Lu Han loves tennis. It's obvious in the way he talks about the sport, hands getting involved in big gestures that sometimes end up in Lu Han smacking Zitao in the face (sometimes deliberately; Yixing just _knows_ ), in the way he takes critiques seriously and gets to correcting them especially when Yixing says, "If you keep trying to get the balls on the rise instead of at a more comfortable angle, you'll just strain your wrist." Yixing sees it in the stretch of Lu Han's body, in every swing and toss and serve. So he tries to keep up, tries to not fall behind because he's the closest Lu Han can get to 'home', the way Lu Han reminds him of his old self back in China, young and wild and free. He has to keep 'home' close by. It's a give and take relationship.

"Hey, Xing!" Lu Han calls out, waving his racket in the air. "Can you aim a deep shot near my feet again? Let's try the waiting thing you've been telling me to do."

Yixing laughs, then picks up the ball from the floor. "An ice cream for every time you pick it up from the rise!" Yixing says right back. He waits for Lu Han's toothy smile before stepping outside of the court and tossing the ball in the air. Lu Han's smile is brighter than the sun.

 

 

MInseok, the vice captain, calls for a meeting in Joonmyun's absence and announces the upcoming tournament. "Two weeks from now," Minseok says. "So expect tougher drills and practices." There's a collective sound of protest from the seniors, with Jonghyun teasing Minseok, _ah, so heartless, vice. What about the oldies who have to prepare for Sooneung?_ Minseok only gives them a tight-lipped smile and answers, "We're all busy. Joonmyun's prepping for a double major, so nobody's excused from practice because of Sooneung."

Beside Yixing, Lu Han mumbles, "I think we just signed ourselves up for hell."

Yixing nods solemnly and pats Lu Han on the shoulder. "This is just the beginning," he says, then turns to Lu Han with a frown. "It'll only get worse."

Practices are only a bit more difficult, though, only because of the longer hours, but for the most part they still come out in one piece. Zitao's sweating buckets by the time they end, and he doesn't even give them a wave before he drags his feet to the locker rooms. Minho and Kibum stay behind a little longer, practicing their service, and Yixing and Lu Han collapse on the benches near the locker room, trying to avoid the heat inside courtesy of too many bodies still warm from practice.

"My arms hurt," Yixing groans. He stretches out his arms over his head, and Lu Han grumbles when he accidentally hits Lu Han's nose. "Sorry. You were in the way."

"Humans before limbs," Lu Han retorts.

"You're not human, Yixing counters. Lu Han turns around so that he's lying on his stomach and flicks Yixing's forehead. "Definitely not human. More of monster, something evil–"

" _You're_ the monster on court," Lu Han whispers.

Lu Han hovers. He leans closer until his lips are just a few inches shy of the tip of Yixing's nose. Yixing waits for the punchline, the unspoken _but_ or _and_ dangling from Lu Han's tongue, his parted lips. Lu Han is close, dangerously close, close enough that Yixing can make out the tiny red spots on Lu Han's chin, or the open pores just under his lower lip. White light is terribly unflattering, makes Lu Han look more tired than he is, but sweat and heat paint him a pretty flush, cheeks a nice shade of red and ears turning pink.

"Maybe," Yixing begins, then pauses for a while to lick his lips. Lu Han's gaze follows, but quickly snaps back to the tip of his nose. "Maybe we can be monsters, then two of us."

Lu Han's lips quirk up, and then he's leaning back, sitting up. He pinches Yixing's nose once he's sitting properly again, and Yixing follows, leaning against the wall.

There's nothing but comfortable silence between them, only occasionally broken by the rhythm of Lu Han drumming his fingers on the bench. "You're crazy," Lu Han whispers, as if an afterthought, and Yixing just shakes his head, doesn't look back when he sees Lu Han staring out of the corner of his eyes.

 

 

Lu Han and Zitao somehow find a way to weasel themselves in Yixing's schedule. Yixing doesn't mind – it's not as if he knows anyone in his class beyond the usual hi's and hello's. He slips from tennis practice in the morning and gets to the classroom without having to carry out a conversation with anyone. He talks to classmates for group work, or when they have to pass papers, but that's it. He leaves class for tennis practice and only gives the familiar faces he passes a curt nod before making a left turn and exiting the hall. He likes to think it has something to do with focus, not letting himself get distracted by the voices of his classmates or passersby. Lu Han calls it being anti-social. Zitao calls him 'lonely'.

"It's not that bad," Yixing explains, stretching both legs on the bench and bending forward. He tenses when he feels hands sliding down his back, but relaxes once he realizes that it's just Lu Han. "I do it to save energy."

"So you could beat us in practice. _Great._ " Lu Han pinches him in his sides, and Yixing yelps. He stays in his position, though, gripping the tips of his shoes tighter as he stretches. "Isn't the goal to help each other improve? What about teamwork?"

"Says mister Lu 'I won't lose' Han, yeah," Yixing retorts. Lu Han slaps him on the arm this time. Zitao helps Lu Han with a tiny nudge on the shoulder and Yixing only chuckles. "Didn't know they changed the definition for that."

"Speaking of teamwork," Zitao begins, voice lilting, "Think you can help me with math, ge?"

Lu Han eases the pressure on Yixing's back, steps away from the bench and shakes his head. "Now _that_ is taking advantage of your teammates." Yixing looks up at the two and keeps his lips pressed together, careful not to laugh. "Fine, fine, let's work on your math assignment later."

"You're the best!" Zitao wraps his arms around Lu Han, then adds, "I'll let you beat my sorry ass today and buy you ice cream and jeon and–"

"We're sort of a package deal," Yixing interrupts. Lu Han looks over his shoulder, an eyebrow cocked, reconsidering. Zitao narrows his eyes at him for a while, but doesn't say 'no'.

Joonmyun lets them off the courts just before seven in the evening, giving them enough time to eat before heading to cram school. Lu Han takes them to a food cart a few blocks away, hidden in an alley Yixing has never been to before, in the few months he's been here in Korea. The ahjumma at the food cart recognizes Lu Han, though, gives him a bright smile that reaches her eyes and ears. "The last time you were here was when you dumped your girlfriend," the ahjumma says as she takes freshly cooked jeon from the stove, serves the lot in a plate. Lu Han scrunches his nose in response, closes his eyes. "Are you here to dump one of them?"

"You have a girlfriend? Zitao asks, wheezing halfway through when he pops in freshly cooked jeon in his mouth. Yixing rubs circles on Zitao's back, fishes for a bottle of cold water in his bag. "You know how to take care of people?"

Lu Han narrows his eyes at Zitao, but the small smile on his lips betrays the whole look. "Hey, don't forget I'm helping you with your homework."

Zitao clears his throat, tries for a second time, "You know how to take care of people, _hyung?_ "

Lu Han rolls his eyes, then turns to the ahjumma when he gives them a plate filled with tteokbokki. "No, ahjumma, I won't be dumping either of them soon."

"So you do plan to," Yixing muses, chewing on a piece of tteok. "You do that often? Chew people up then spit 'em out?"

Lu Han furrows his eyebrow, leans back for a while. For a moment, Yixing sees a flash of hesitation in Lu Han's eyes. It's not the same as the one from a few days back when they were just outside the locker room, faces close to each other, waiting and resisting in equal parts. So he waits, studies it some more, the quirk of Lu Han's lips and the light furrow of the eyebrows, the smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I don't know," Lu Han says after a while. He takes a piece of tteok between his teeth, seethes when his teeth sink into the slice. "Shit, this thing's hot."

The ahjumma shakes her head. "Heartbreaker," she says, winking at Lu Han when she ends. "You boys help yourselves to an extra serving. It's been a while since I last saw your friend here."

Lu Han looks up at her, smiling softly. Yixing memorizes that, too, the meek look or maybe one of relief. He slips a piece of tteok between Lu Han's lips to bring color back to his cheeks. Lu Han relents, but not without sticking his tongue out after.

On their way to the subway station, Lu Han falls in step with Yixing, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. "Cram school," he mumbles, eyes fixed on his shoes. "We're not even sure if we'll have a bright future if we do get a good score."

"How long have you been doing this?"

Lu Han shrugs. "Long enough," he answers. Lu Han takes a left when they reach a corner, and Yixing blindly follows. Yixing can hear Zitao's hurried steps behind them. "I sorta grew up here already."

"Oh?" Yixing nods in acknowledgement. "Did you fail the first try-outs for the tennis club, then? I mean, when you were in freshman year."

Lu Han chuckles. "Nah, I transferred schools. I was in Hanyoung before, until things happened."

"Things?" Yixing asks, but too late – Lu Han has already passed a turnstile and is waiting on the other side. He doesn't bring it up when they start walking again, steps set to the same rhythm that Lu Han is bobbing his head to. In the train, Lu Han stays quiet and Zitao's voice soars above the noise in Yixing's head, the many voices asking, _why, what 'things', what do you mean by that, Lu Han?_ So he, too, doesn't say anything, keeps his eyes on Zitao and his animated expression and doesn't ask Lu Han _why_ when Lu Han rests his head on his shoulder, nuzzling his arm.

 

 

With the tournament drawing closer, Coach Jung makes then do longer hours for practice. He monitors the practice matches closely, looking for holes in their play that their opponents can potentially capitalize on. Joonmyun pays extra attention to Minho's power shots, reminding him not to strain himself. He makes Kibum practice his serves to make sure that he doesn't get into trouble with them again. Kibum approaches Yixing for help when Joonmyun excuses himself, asks if they can do a couple of rounds of service practice. Yixing says 'yes' without a hint of hesitation.

"Okay, play time's over," Lu Han says, hooking an arm around Yixing's own four games in. Kibum calls out after Lu Han, saying, _get your own service partner!,_ and Lu Han sticks his tongue out at Kibum in response.

"Very mature," Yixing comments, nudging Lu Han in his side with the same arm Lu Han is clinging to.

Lu Han looks at him through half-mast eyes. Sweat rolls down the contour of his face, the column of his neck, catching on his collarbones. "Nooo, not you, too."

"Part of teamwork is to call teammates out on their bullshit," Yixing says, winking. He pulls away, then, turning on his heel before heading to the other side of the net. "What did you want to work on?"

Lu Han shrugs, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt hikes up a little, revealing a bit of skin. Yixing flits his gaze back up, back to Lu Han's ugly yawning face. Much better. "Nothing. I just wanted a nice match. Zitao's too easy."

"I heard that!" Zitao yells from the court beside theirs.

Lu Han flashes a v-sign at Zitao. "I meant you to!"

"Minho looks lonely training with a wall," Yixing comments, but picks up a ball with his racket, anyway, dribbling it with his racket until he picks up rhythm to transfer the ball to his hand. Lu Han doesn't seem to care, already practicing his swing on the other side of the court, so Yixing shrugs off the thought, doesn't question Lu Han's intention and just serves near Lu Han's feet.

"Hey, keep it light," Lu Han says in confidence later, once Zitao has already vacated the court beside theirs. "Tao's getting better. The better backhand is working wonders! My knees are shaking!"

Yixing chuckles when they pass each other on the side, as they switch courts. There's a hint of worry in the way Lu Han worries his eyebrows, but in the stretch of his body lies confidence, a deeper knowledge of the sport that puts him well above the rest. "Threatened?" Yixing asks, nonetheless, more to tease than anything else, and Lu Han picks it up faster than he can return a shot.

"I'm shaking in fear," Lu Han answers, wrapping his arms around his body in a mock shake. Yixing rolls his eyes and takes his place on the other side of the court.

Lu Han has been adding more variety to his shots recently, alternating between hitting balls on the rise and waiting it out. Yixing thinks he's got it down now, the patten in Lu Han's movement – the slight twist of the torso means he'll meet the ball head on, hitting it as close to the ground as possible, and the more obvious twist, the one where his shirt hugs his slim waist, means he's going to hit it from a higher angle, more time for a backswing and an opportunity to add more spin to the ball. Lu Han's wrist work is a thing of beauty – the slightest flick of the wrist produces spins that make his shots unreturnable, and Lu Han knows it, capitalizes on this skill and the ability to fake shots to confuse his opponents.

"That one was really good," Yixing comments from the other side of the court after missing a forehand down the line, landing straight on the edge of the singles court. Lu Han does this little happy dance, grinning ear to ear. He returns to the baseline, still laughing, and then it's gone – Lu Han's lips are drawn to a tight-lipped smile, only slightly tugged up at a corner in a challenge rivaled only by the focus in his eyes.

_Keep it light,_ Lu Han says, but every inch of his body is screaming, _hit me with your best shot!_

"Think you can draw that one out of me again?" Lu Han asks, crouching low.

Yixing snorts and grips the ball tight in his right hand, ready to serve. "I thought you'd never ask."

 

 

Seven in the morning _on a weekend_ is an ungodly hour to be traveling to Gyeonggi-do. Joonmyun doesn't seem to mind, though, awake enough at such an early hour to double-check on everyone. Minseok offers his help from time to time, but for the most part he makes sure Joonmyun is seated in his place and not pacing the narrow aisle of the bus. Lu Han only chuckles, shaking his head lightly as he leans on Yixing's arm. The stretch kind of hurts in the ear – Lu Han stole one of his earbuds earlier, saying that he couldn't sleep without music.

"I'm glad I'm not captain," Lu Han whispers in Yixing's ear, as if in a secret. Zitao's long fallen asleep in his window seat, a thin line of drool reaching his chin. Lu Han shifts a little, tucks his chin on Yixing's shoulder now. Yixing forgoes the music in favor of Lu Han's voice. "I can't do what Joonmyun-hyung is doing, worrying about everything and everyone."

"I think Minseok-hyung's job is tougher," Yixing replies. Lu Han snorts, getting the message. "Just do what you do best."

Lu Han looks up at him, a sleepy smile on his lips. The lazy upward tug of the lip draws Yixing in, keeps his gaze right _there_. Lu Han is close, much closer now, just a hitch of the breath between them, and he can blame being drunk on sleep if he ever does anything, but he doesn't. Instead, he stays where he is, breath held, lips cold and chapped. Lu Han seems to mind, taps his lower lip twice. "You need lip balm for that?"

A gulp, then, "Nah, I'm good." Yixing slips the earbud in, and Lu Han follows suit. "Maybe later," he adds after a while.

"It's a one-time offer."

Yixing looks at Lu Han and exhales loudly. "Fine, fine. If it bothers you that much."

Lu Han reaches in his pocket, pulls out a strawberry-flavored lip balm. "You'll thank me later."

Lu Han watches as he uncaps the lip balm, turns the bottom and applies some on his lips. Lu Han darts out his tongue, peeking just a little, and Yixing presses down on his own lips harder than expected. Lu Han catches his bottom lip between his teeth, then, doesn't tear his gaze until Yixing is shoving the lip balm in his face as he mumbles a tiny _thank you_ under his breath.Then Lu Han resurfaces – he grins at Yixing, snatches Yixing's iPod, and pulls up a Vienna Teng playlist that Yixing forgot existed. Thirty more minutes until they get to Anyang, thirty minutes listening to Vienna Teng songs on repeat. Thirty long minutes with Lu Han's hand on his thigh, fingers drawing lazy circles on the thin fabric of his tennis shorts.

He catches Zitao looking ten minutes in and keeps a straight face. Zitao doesn't withdraw his hand from Lu Han's thigh. Yixing doesn't say anything and keeps his attention on Vienna Teng's words, the music, Lu Han's steady humming just beside him.

 

 

(Yixing has always liked guys, has liked them for the longest time. He found his cousin attractive the first time he saw him. He found himself admiring men's legs and their broad shoulders and the shape of their thighs as soon as he'd picked up tennis as a sport. His first recollection of wanting to touch a man, however, was back in middle school – one of his close friends in the basketball club. He was a tall guy from Korea who spent more time joking around during practice than actually doing drills. He was a great player, though, the ace of Shanghai Primary, able to make shots in the trickiest of situations. And Chanyeol was that with life, too – people gravitated to him, were drawn to his bright smile and his easy confidence and the way he carried himself on and off court. So Yixing never stood a chance, really, when he found himself staring at Chanyeol longer than the usual, when he felt his stomach lurching whenever Chanyeol snaked an arm around his shoulder to pull him close. It hits Yixing hard, the realization that he wants to kiss Chanyeol's neck and just _kiss him,_ period, but he doesn't do anything because _there's no room for a boy who likes a boy in the world of basketball._ He dribbles away, passes the ball to someone else, returns to tennis. It's safer here, where he doesn't _have_ to work with other people all the time, where he doesn't have to rely on the pull of Chanyeol's smile and laughter and confidence to give him enough courage to jump off the floor and shoot a basket.

It makes him less afraid.)

 

 

The victory over Anyang isn't unexpected. Minho and Kibum, for all of their banters, display great teamwork and lead the team to an easy 6-4 6-4 victory. Jinki and Jonghyun, meanwhile, bag the doubles one victory with a nice 6-3 6-2 score. Zitao and Joonmyun are on reserve today, just in case they lose all the singles matches, and Lu Han triumphs over Anyang's singles three player after a two-hour match, winning 7-5 7-5. Lu Han turns to the direction of their box as soon as he wins, searching for Coach Jung, and Coach Jung gives him a clap and a thumbs-up. Lu Han looks around again, for Yixing this time, and a grin surfaces on his lips when their eyes meet.

_You didn't suck,_ Yixing mouths, teasing, but quickly adds, _Great play today. Your best so far._

Lu Han gives him a wink, then says right back, _Keep up with me. You can't fall behind._

Something gets caught in Yixing's throat, and he gulps hard. He thinks of falling in step with Lu Han on their way to the substation, the way their bodies almost mirror each other, how he knows, just from the slightly different angle Lu Han tosses his ball in, exactly what type of serve he'll be doing. He thinks of 'home' and having to stay close by, being within an arm's reach.

He responds with a lopsided grin. Lu Han will understand; he always does.

Lu Han turns around to take his opponent's hand in a handshake, but only ends up catching the tip of the man's fingers. Always in a rush to get things done and over with, hanging around long enough only when he feels like it. Yixing shakes his head, stuffs his racket in his bag. He'll play singles two next time, some other time.

When Lu Han returns to the box, he gives everyone a high-five, then pinches Zitao in his side. He doesn't miss the way the hand Zitao had punched Lu Han with slides down Lu Han's arm, though, or the way it rests above Lu Han's hips longer than it should. He looks away, addressing Jinki's comment about Zitao growing even taller, and turns his gaze back to the scene only to be met with Lu Han's eyes. Lu Han has an eyebrow cocked, lips quirked in question.

Joonmyun clamps a hand on Lu Han's shoulder, and then it's gone. Lu Han has the grime of victory all over his face again, pulling at the corners of his lips, dripping down his face in sweat like rivulets.

 

 

The next match gets pushed back by a couple of weeks. Joonmyun only takes away an hour off their usual practice schedule, though, tells them to maximize their time so that they can get a good balance between school and tennis and sleep. "Bullshit," Kibum mumbles under his breath, but thanks Joonmyun anyway. An hour of respite is still an hour of rest – they'll take anything they can get. With the quarterly exams drawing nearer, requirements at school begin to piling up on them. Minho cross-stitches between practice matches, and Kibum does his math homework in the bleachers while waiting for his next match. Zitao recites Shakespeare while perfecting his serves. Yixing runs the history of Korea through his brain everytime he does a bad serve or misses a shot.

"So how far along are you now?" Lu Han teases as he pulls his shirt over his head.

The seniors had excused themselves thirty minutes ago, after Coach Jung finally allowed them to leave practice early for Sooneung preparations. Minho and Kibum are already in the shower, and the last time Yixing checked they were waging a soap sud war against each other. "Got through three years but I'll run 'em again in my head later, to be sure," Yixing answers, slipping off his tennis shorts. He shivers when he feels the heat of the steam tickle his skin. "No exam tomorrow but eh, sonsaengnim will probably do a graded recitation."

"I finally got to the part where Romeo and Juliet both die," Zitao says. He gives Yixing a light pat on the back, then pulls his hand back. Yixing furrows his eyebrows a little. "For the fifth time."

"You screw up that much?" Lu Han teases, but quickly ducks when when Zitao throws his sweaty shirt his way. Zitao isn't satisfied, though, jumps over the bench and wrestles Lu Han against the lockers. Still sweaty from practice and stripped down to their undearwear, the fit looks sort of awkward – Zitao with his palms flat on Lu Han's wrists, one leg between Lu Han's own. Lu Han looking up at Zitao through his bangs, chest heaving, lips quirked up. Yixing zeroes in on the slight movement of Lu Han's abs, keeps his lips pressed thinly together. He looks away, at his bare toes, his hairy legs, the tremble of his fingers. It's just the heat, he reminds himself.

Then he looks back up and sees Zitao pressing forward, brushing his knee against Lu Han's crotch. He hears Lu Han's high gasp, the hitch in his breath. The soft murmur of _not here, Tao._ The heavy feeling between his legs and the splashing of water nearby, Kibum and Minho emerging from the showers.

"I'm going in next," Yixing announces, taking his towel with him. Zitao takes a step back and Lu Han follows Yixing inside.

The sound of water crashing down on the tiles is loud, almost deafening, but Yixing only closes this eyes, tilts his head so that he can feel the pressure of the water in his face. When he feels a pair of hands lathering shampoo on his hair, massaging his scalp, he doesn't turn around, doesn't even look over his shoulder. Lu Han's just being considerate. This is Lu Han's way of saying _you didn't see anything._ Teammates do this – keep each other's secrets, shampoo each other's hair. And even if Lu Han drags his hand down the slope of Yixing's body, rests it on the small of Yixing's back, Yixing doesn't say anything. Lu Han is just another guy.

 

 

The upcoming match against Daewon has Coach Jung asking the rookies to come in on a weekend for an extra session. Joonmyun and Minseok hang around for a few hours, though, to make sure that everyone is progressing in their areas of improvement. Joonmyun even helps Lu Han with his drop shots, telling him to not go too soft on the flick of the wrist. Minho and Kibum skip off after taking a shower, saying they still have Saturday hagwon to attend, and Yixing stays behind in the courts for a few more minutes to practice his volleys. "You seem distracted," Lu Han had commented then, halfway through the weekend session. Yixing shrugged him off, said he was fine and that he was just feeling under the weather.

"Don't strain yourself," Lu Han says now, before heading to the locker rooms for a shower. Zitao follows closely behind, says the same thing, but adds a _pretty please?_ at the end. Yixing only smiles in response.

He heads back to the locker rooms around twenty minutes after, when he feels his arms weigh down on him and begin to give away. It's always been a hard limit he's set for himself – feel a dull ache in your thighs and you're fine; feel your arms numb and drop the racket as soon as you can. He stretches his arms behind his back, racket still in his hand, and pads to the locker room. This isn't anything a nice, long shower can't fix.

The door's shut tight when he reaches the doorstep. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turns the doorknob as gently as possible.

There's nothing but emptiness in the main area, the stink of sweat in the air. Water is running in the shower area, so he takes a peek, checks if Lu Han and Zitao have already left. What greets him, though, is the sight of the two naked bodies pressed against each other, Zitao's loose fist pumping them in easy thrusts.

Yixing takes a deep, shaky breath. He gulps hard.

One of Lu Han's hands sneaks around Zitao's waist, fingers dipping in the cleft of Zitao's ass. Zitao lets out a throaty moan, back arching as Lu Han eases a finger inside him. The grip on their dicks tightens, and Lu Han winces at the pressure. Lu Han looks so vulnerable, so entrancing like this, the way he holds Zitao's gaze with half-mast eyes, moving his fingers inside Zitao in tandem with the jerks of Zitao's hand. His hair is all over his face, and he's planting soft kisses along Zitao's jaw, sucking on his skin, bucking his hips, craving more contact.

Yixing clenches his fists, feels the resistance of the grip of his racket in his hands. His dick stirs in his shorts, and he closes his eyes before reaching down to palm himself through his clothes. It feels wrong – _this_ is wrong – but here Lu Han is, bucking his hips in an effort to create more friction, moving his lips on Zitao's skin, and there's nothing but Lu Han's name in Zitao's throaty moans, in his small gasps, in the press of his mouth just a few spaces shy of Lu Han's own.

Lu Han doesn't last longer – soon, he's letting out a screechy moan, spilling all over Zitao's fist as Zitao pushes his ass back against Lu Han's fingers. Lu Han reaches between them, rubbing the tip of Zitao's cock with his thumb, and then Zitao is coming, his groan muffled by the press of his lips on Lu Han's skin. They stay still for a few sticky seconds, and Yixing feels himself getting closer, almost tipping off, so gives his cock a few quick strokes, hurried and frantic.

Lu Han looks up, turns his head in Yixing's direction. His eyebrows furrow slightly and his lips fall open in a small 'o', and Yixing comes in his shorts like that's what does it for him – the look of disbelief in Lu Han's face, the confusion, the realization when Lu Han presses his lips together, cocking his head.

Lu Han cups Zitao's cheek in his palm, looks at Yixing one last time before kissing Zitao on the lips, turning Zitao's face away from Yixing.

Yixing drops his racket and leaves the locker room, stays outside until he hears the shower turn off. He closes his eyes, catches his breath, dick still twitching in his pants. He replays the steady beat of tennis balls bouncing on court to drown out the sound of Lu Han's moans in his ears.

 

 

He runs into Lu Han after his last class the following Monday.

More like he bumps into Lu Han on his way out of his classroom and proceeds to fall on his tennis bag. His first thought is, _shit, my racket;_ his second, _shit, I'm going to be late for practice._ Lu Han doesn't seem to be fazed, though, talking slow steps closer, then bending his knees.

"Need some help there?" Lu Han then asks. His lips are tugged up in a tight-lipped smile, eyebrows raised. Yixing knows better than to trust this, and yet–

He takes the outstretched hand, then looks up at Lu Han before pulling himself up. He dusts himself off, breaking eye contact, then says, "The court's the other way."

Lu Han doesn't say anything, just stares and worries his bottom lip for a while. He's alternating between rubbing the tip of his nose and playing with the hem of shirt. Yixing hasn't seen this look yet, but then he probably hasn't even seen half of Lu Han yet. The Lu Han on court, that's the one he knows like the back of his hand. The moment Lu Han steps outside the lines, drops his racket and changes back into his school uniform, that's when his image of Lu Han blurs into puffs of color. A shot too fast and too sharp that there's no chance of returning it whatsoever.

"We're okay, right?" Lu Han asks after a while. He reaches out, tugging at the sleeve of Yixing's blazer. Yixing keeps his eyes on his feet, hoping for once that there's something interesting about black leather shoes. "Hey, Xing, come on… Look at me."

Yixing gulps hard. "Why won't we be okay?"

Silence settles back in, broken only by Lu Han's muffled noise. "I don't know. Because I suck dick and you're not supposed to jack off with a team member in the showers?" Yixing snorts, and Lu Han scrunches his nose and he closes his eyes. He runs a finger along the slope of his neck, scratching his nape. "It's nothing. It's just–"

Lu Han and Zitao fucking around in the showers after practice. Lu Han fingering Zitao until Zitao climaxed. Lu Han kissing Zitao as if in a last-ditch effort to keep Zitao from turning his head in Yixing's direction.

"You were letting off some steam. I mean, that's… normal. I guess." Yixing tries to laugh, but he chokes on the sound of his own voice. Lu Han sort of winces, sort of takes a step back and leans back in at the same time, and Yixing breathes a little. "You're still you and Tao is still Tao. I'm cool with anything."

"Are you sure?"

Yixing balls one hand into a fist in his pocket. The other one, he uses to flash a thumbs-up at Lu Han. "Yeah, I'm cool with it," he says. He shivers when he feels the coldness of the pads of his fingers on his skin, through his pants, the contrast of Lu Han's hand, warm and soft, cupping his cheek. "I'm cool with anything."

Lu Han rubs his thumb on Yixing's cheek, the touch almost feather-light. He hovers for a while, eyes darting from Yixing's own to Yixing's lips. He swipes his tongue along his bottom lip as if in acknowledgement. "Anything?"

Yixing nods and takes a deep breath. "Anything."

Lu Han takes another step forward, their foreheads now touching. Lu Han's close, close enough that Yixing can catch the scent of sweat and strawberries in his hair, the perfume on Lu Han's neck, the dip of his top lip. Close enough that he can make out the way BB cream cakes just under Lu Han's eye bags and reach up to wipe it even with his thumb. He doesn't, though, simply stays rooted in his spot, half of him wanting to lean forward, the other half pulling back. Lu Han slides his hand down, thumb tracing the seam of Yixing's lips, and Yixing parts them a little, closes his lips around Lu Han's finger for a while before letting it go in a faint 'pop'.

Then Lu Han's taking a step back. Then Yixing's picking his tennis bag up and hauling it over his shoulder. Then Lu Han's saying, "Bungeoppang later? I heard there's a good place nearby," and Yixing's nodding blindly in approval. They don't bring it up the entire trip to the courts or even during practice, don't even hang around each other long enough to say anything beyond the usual hi's and hello's. Lu Han makes it a point to run a hand down Yixing's back, though, the same way he'd traced the slope of it, soap suds between his fingers, sliding down Yixing's slick back. If Yixing ever means to indulge Lu Han, he only looks over his shoulder and smiles with his eyes.

They walk to the bungeoppang place in silence later, elbows bumping, Halfway through the trip, Lu Han pulls him closer, snakes an arm around his shoulder and whispers, "We're good."

 

 

The worst part of summer is the erratic weather. Rain comes pouring down in the middle of the season, disrupting the wave of heat that Yixing has finally come to grow accustomed to. It's easy to fall back into old habit, though – it's not as if the cold bothered him, just the humid atmosphere that the rainy season brought. He makes sure to carry around an umbrella and a hoodie, though, double-check if he has both in his backpack before leaving the house.

Yixing steps outside the classroom and down comes the rain, pelting just beyond the window. Zitao hasn't returned his umbrella yet, still sick from overexertion, but Zitao did promise to come in today. Groaning, he puts on his hoodie, pulls the hood over his head. If he runs fast enough, he won't get too drenched and he'll get to the locker rooms not looking like a wet chick.

"Practice is cancelled," comes a voice from behind. Yixing looks over his shoulder, then chuckles when he sees Lu Han a few feet away. His hair is a mess, tousled by the rain. Droplets of water trickle down his cheeks like beads of sweat. "I ran into Joonmyun-hyung just a few minutes ago. We can't play in this weather."

"We still have the covered courts, though," Yixing says, but removes the hood, anyway. He envelops his arms around him when the cool wind blows – they're at the doorstep where rain and wind have a big enough opening to exploit.

"C'mon, this is a free pass to escape practice." Lu Han scoffs. "You're gonna let it slip away?"

"My tennis bag is in the locker room," Yixing confesses. He scratches the slope of his neck before meeting Lu Han in the eye. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I shouldn't have left it there–"

"And you shouldn't be worrying about it too much. It's safe, don't worry." Lu Han reaches out, grabbing him by the wrist. The next thing he knows, he's waiting for Lu Han to dry himself off in the men's bathroom.

The hand towel doesn't do much, just makes the drying process much longer than it should, but it's the best Lu Han has at the moment. Yixing tries to help with a handful of tissue, and Lu Han only laughs at him when he reaches out to dab on Lu Han's face with the bunch. "That's stupid," Lu Han argues, but he doesn't swat Yixing's hand away. Instead, he lays his palms on top of Yixing's own, controls Yixing limbs like a puppet. "Okay, follow me now– One, two–"

Yixing takes a step back, dropping his hands, and Lu Han teeters forward. Yixing counts – the seconds until their bodies collide, until his chest meets a handful of Lu Han face, until Lu Han smears BB cream all over his uniform. His mother won't appreciate that, but then he can do his own laundry just fine. If anything does go wrong, if Lu Han does fall forward and into Yixing, then he can salvage the uniform top.

But Lu Han steps on Yixing's foot, instead, in an effort to stop himself in his tracks. "Fuck, you sneaky–" And then Lu Han's wrestling him, fist twisting at the back of Yixing's head. Yixing's fingers digging into Lu Han's sides to tickle him.

Lu Han's face falls forward, into the crook of Yixing's neck. Yixing keeps his fingers there, twisting, pinching, pushing until Lu Han's a giggling mess. He feels loose-limbed and a bit dizzy but this feels right. It feels familiar. Lu Han has his warm mouth pressed to Yixing's skin and Yixing's heart is racing in his chest but it doesn't change anything. There's still the same Lu Han in the way he moves, in the way their bodies fit. Fucking a friend in the locker rooms hasn't made him any different from who he was before. It could've been worse – Lu Han could have been caught doing drugs during a tournament and got kicked out, smearing bad reputation all over the school's name. He could've smuggled food from a convenience store and handed them out in the streets like Robin Hood. He could have hit an opponent with a ball to the elbow and paralyzed the guy. But he didn't. Lu Han is still Lu Han and _this_ is still home. So they're good.

Yixing pushes Lu Han away, brushes Lu Han's sweaty bangs off his face. He can see the pimples on patches of skin that have lost the BB cream so he pokes them, sneering. Lu Han growls at him. He still has his hands fisted in Yixing's shirt. This doesn't change anything. They're good.

 

 

Except Yixing's gut tells him otherwise when he sees Lu Han and Zitao kissing on court with the lights already out. It's way too risky to be frisky out here – Lu Han backed against a pole, Zitao with his hands snaking beneath Lu Han's shirt – but they don't seem to care. They're caught up in their own little world, drunk on the taste of victory after defeating Daewon in three easy wins the same afternoon. Zitao loses the shy front and slips one leg between Lu Han's own, knee brushing Lu Han's erection. Lu Han lets out a small gasp, face falling forward. Yixing hears them all – the strangled moan that escapes Lu Han's lips, the sounds he doesn't make when they play against each other. Zitao draws them out so easily with a brush of the knee or a touch of the hand.

"Not here," he hears Lu Han say. Zitao leans in for one last kiss, and Yixing takes a step back. He turns on his heel and walks to the locker rooms as quickly as possible, steps light.

The sound of water streaming down drowns out Zitao and Lu Han's footsteps when they get in. Yixing keeps his eyes closed, face tilted up so that he receives the full force of the water, feels the sting of its warmth wrap around his thoughts. The way Lu Han had submitted himself willingly but held back in the end, the way Zitao leaned in for another kiss, the way the thrum of arousal rolled down his abdomen and made his stomach lurch– Yixing shakes his head but quickly regrets it when suds get in his eyes. He can fool his teammates with his great tennis but he can't fool himself – he's not okay with this arrangement or with the knowledge that Zitao and Lu Han fuck around in sacred tennis grounds.

He's not okay with the stirring in his stomach. This isn't teamwork. This is playing doubles _then_ defecting to the other side.

"Hey ge, I'm grabbing dinner on the way home. Wanna come?" he hears Zitao saying.

Lu Han's response echoes, along with the splash created by his steps. "Nah, I'll– I've got English lessons with Yixing."

Yixing opens his eyes but shuts them again when the hot water attacks. He never learns.

"Hey," comes Lu Han's soft greeting, garbled by the streaming water. Yixing looks to his side and acknowledges him with a nod. He tucks his chin now, rinsing off the shampoo, until he feels warm palms on his, fingers slipping between his own. "Let me," Lu Han whispers, and Yixing drops his hands to his sides, blows on the suds that get caught on his nose.

"I thought you'd gone home already," Lu Han says. "Didn't you strain your wrist?"

Yixing shakes his head, voice still messed up after tasting soap on his mouth. _Why do you care?_ he wants to say, but every inch of his body retaliates, softens under Lu Han's warm touch. Lu Han's hands are on his shoulders now, completely still, like he's waiting for a spoken response, but Yixing stays silent. He bites his tongue and relishes the sting of it as water continues to pour down on him.

"Yixing," Lu Han says, grabbing him by the shoulders to turn him around. Lu Han's completely dry save for his hands, and the steam from the shower paints his cheeks a light pink. His eyebrows are furrowed. Yixing can see all of his pimples, the mole near his lips, the downward tug on the corners of his mouth. "Yixing, _say something–_ "

"Why," Yixing blurts out. He keeps his head hung low, eyes focused on the expanse of flesh, water tracing the lines of Lu Han's stomach. There are a thousand why's in his head – why do I feel bad about this, why am I shivering, why do I care? Why are you here, why did you have to kiss Zitao on court and why do you two have to fuck around? Everything's a mess in his head and his words are all jumbled up. A sick kind of possessiveness crawls under his skin, wraps around his throat, then unclenches itself, letting loose the words he'd been long swallowing down. "Why Zitao? Why him?"

A hiccup, bubbles on his lips, and then, "Why not me?"

Lu Han's lips part, falling open in a small 'o'. There's confusion in his features for a while, in the gentle furrow of his eyebrows, and then, "Because home isn't where the dick is supposed to be?" Yixing flicks water in his eyes, growls at Lu Han's casual confidence. Lu Han's laughter vibrates against Yixing's skin. "Because home isn't where you fuck around but where you stay? For good?"

Lu Han guides his hand down Yixing's cheek, cupping it and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you want to turn it into a humping space?"

Yixing gives Lu Han a kick in the leg. "Don't do that."

"Then is it okay… if I do this?"

Lu Han leans closer, hovers, fingers slipping down to hold Yixing by the chin. Yixing snakes his arms around Lu Han's waist, pulling him nearer, bodies sliding inelegantly. Yixing gives a low grunt and Lu Han presses closer, lips meeting Yixing's own in a light brush. Nothing makes sense but their bodies align, finding a perfect fit, and Lu Han is kissing him. Lu Han is kissing him and licking at the seam of his lips, teasing his mouth open, sucking at the corners, licking the back of his teeth. Lu Han is kissing him like nothing and no one outside of this matters. And Lu Han is whispering his name like a prayer, holding onto him like a lifeline, and he's kissing him.

And he kisses Lu Han back.


End file.
